Tactical Officers' School
by piorun
Summary: Felix Gaeta attends the Tactical Officers' School prior to serving on the Galactica.
1. Chapter 1

"Every year, the finest graduates of the colleges and universities of the Twelve Colonies become officers in the Colonial Fleet. A select few of them are chosen to attend the Tactical Officers' School." from a Colonial Fleet recruiting video.

It was the last workday before a long weekend; the afternoon zeppelin from Queenstown to the Fleet Operating Base was unusually empty; a few defense contractors, some young sailors fresh out of training preparing to deploy with the fleet, some family members either coming to visit sons or daughters, or to join their service member. No. No one of any interest to her, and then she saw him. Reasonably good looking, young and trim, not like the fat defense contractors, and he was in uniform so she could tell he was an officer; a junior officer, but still, an officer. She brought him his lunch, and made a point of leaning over him to get something from the seat back next to him. Straightening up, she deliberately brushed against him. He looked up, annoyed. "I'll get it for you, miss." She looked down and smiled, "Thank you, sir; I didn't want to bother you." Felix Gaeta didn't return her smile, "No problem." Walking away, she thought to herself, "Frak him. No, that's not gonna happen."

Disembarking from the zeppelin, Gaeta saw the signs in the terminal directing new personnel to sign in at Central Transport for transportation to their units. Behind the counter, a strac NCO took a copy of people's orders and checked the monitor to see about their transportation. "A copy of your orders, Sir; thank you. You'll be going to the West Compound, Building 7455. The ground bus will be here in about 45 mikes, so if you want to leave your bags here, you can check out the shops, get a bite to eat. The next bus will be in about two hours. We'll load your bags on board." "Thank you; I'll be back." He had never been to Picon before, and he hadn't had much time from the time he landed planet-side at the spaceport until the zeppelin left, so he wanted to see as much as he could see. The sandwich and cup of coffee took almost the full 45 minutes, and Gaeta almost missed the bus.

The bus dropped him off at the schoolhouse, and he noted that no one came to carry his bags. Inside, at the duty desk, a grizzled chief barely looked up and reached out a hand, "Orders, sir."

Felix looked down, "I'm surprised, chief, that a man of your experience and years of service doesn't know to come to attention for a superior officer."

By tradition, the duty officer didn't need to come to attention for anyone except the school commander or other officers of equal or greater rank. This ensign didn't qualify. Slowly, the chief rose, "By your command, sir. I'm sorry sir."

Handing over his orders, Gaeta added, "That's better, chief."

"You'll be in room 427; Mister Kirikiadi will be your roommate. Runner," and he snapped his fingers, "take MISTER Gaeta's bags up to room 427." They left, and the chief looked after him. Normally a new ensign would be beneath his notice; they were expected to say and do stupid things, but something about this one got under his skin. Within minutes, word went out over the old chiefs' network that Ensign Felix Gaeta was trouble.

At the door to Room 427, the runner dropped off Gaeta's bags, "You're in here, sir." Runners did not bring new arrivals bags into their rooms; they dropped them off at the door. The layout of these suites was such that that the hallway door entered into a small ante-room. To the right and to the left were the large, single occupant bedrooms, with a shared bathroom with twin sinks between the bedrooms and offset opposite the hallway door.

Felix Gaeta was a rarity in the history of man; he had perfect pitch. From the sounds coming out of the bathroom, it was obvious the person inside did not. He supposed that on some colonies, that sound which rose above the hair dryer was considered music; no, who was he kidding, no one considered that music. Assuming it was his new roommate, he looked in the open door and almost gaped, but managed "What the frak are you doing?"

Standing on a towel, stark naked admiring himself in the mirror was a guy his own age. He was about the same height as Felix, but a stockier build. In one hand he held a hair dryer which he was using on his nether regions, and in the other hand was a pair of scissors which he was using in concert with the hair dryer. Over his left shoulder, Felix recognized the markings of the leading student society in the Twelve Colonies; a society that had considered, and decided it could do without, Felix Gaeta.

The naked guy put his hair dryer and scissors down on the counter, and he turned to Felix, smiling a broad smile, saying, "I'm just doing a little manscaping; you know the shorter the bush, the bigger the tree," and then he had the temerity, still smiling, to wink at Felix. He turned, and with no attempt to cover up, walked over, hand outstretched, and said, "I'm Mike Kirikiadi; my friends call me Riki." Pointing at his chest, he said "I shaved the lightning bolt, myself."

Felix's head started reeling. This guy couldn't be real; it had to be a test of some sort. The Society wouldn't have a member like him unless he was from some bumfrak, back world college. Nonplussed, Felix just stammered, "Uh, ugh, we can shake later. Where are you from?" "U Libran. I studied digital applications of forensic accounting; you?" Not a bumfrak back world college. "Oh, uh, biogenetics. What's your date of rank?"

In the Colonial Fleet, date of rank was everything; it determined if you commanded, or were commanded; it determined when you went before the promotion board; it was the lifeblood of every officer and enlisted man in the Fleet. "It's the first." Had Gaeta also had a date of rank on the first, he would have been senior, since regs mandated that with the same date of rank, precedence was alphabetical. Shaking his head, defeated, not happy with his new roommate, Felix dragged his bags into the empty room and started to unpack.

More than a year later, they returned to their quarters after graduation rehearsal, and true to tradition, their orders were on their pillows. Mike looked over at Felix and asked

"Where are you going?"

"I got the Galactica, under Commander Adama."

"Galactica! Jeeze, Felix, who'd you piss off in assignments branch? The Galactica can't get out of her own way. She takes a whole solar system to turn around. battlestar, my ass; battle barge is more like it. Her only purpose in the line is to draw fire from the real war fighters. And who is this Ad-a-ma? I've never heard of him. " Felix tried to get in a word, but Mike was on a roll. "He's probably some brand new commander with something to prove, or else he's a dried up hack on his tombstone assignment. Let me see what Jainz Colonial Fleets has to say."

Mike Kirikiadi pulled up Jainz Colonial Fleets on his monitor. Jainz had information not only on the Colonial Fleet, but also short biographies of commanders and above, plus information on all FTL space capable merchant ships. It was usually more accurate and more up to date than highly classified Colonial Fleet documents.

"Here we go. 'Galactica. hah; I was right, at speed she takes 8 a.u.'s to turn around. Hmm, this isn't good. All units of this class are to be decommissioned during the current quadrennium. Some units have displayed advanced structural fatigue. And this Adama fellow..." Mike whistled, "Watch yourself, Felix; he's frakked up royally somewhere along the line. He had the Valkyrie, and now Their Lordships have dumped him and his XO onto the Galactica. Just hope he gets out soon and doesn't drag you down with him. Your Adama is a piece of work. He's number 14 on the commanders' seniority list." The seniority list was everything; it determined if you commanded or were commanded. In the Colonial Fleet, if you were going to be promoted to Admiral, it happened before you reached 50 on the seniority list. "Where was I; oh yeah, he had the Valkyrie and they've transferred him to the Galactica along with his XO, Colonel, I think it's pronounced Tigg. They must've frakked up royally for a move like that. Yeah, Felix, watch your back; guys like that'll get you killed."

Felix laughed off his friend's concern. "Don't worry about me; if people start getting killed in the CIC, I've frakked up somewhere. Hey, but what about you? Aren't you gonna open your orders?."

Kirikiadi shook his head. "Their Lordships have decided that the CF can do well without the services of Mike Kirikiadi. I talked to my godfather and there's nothing to be done. I'm to report to the Reserve Unit on Libran on my arrival there. My ability at 3-d and 4-D thinking didn't meet their standards. Don't worry about me Felix; I already have a job lined up with Libran Intelligence as an auditor in the white collar crimes bureau. Very 2-D. "

in fact, Kirikiadi's conversation with his godfather had not been as calm and matter of fact as he let on. many officers had godfathers; older senior officers who looked out for their careers, guided them along their careers, and , when necessary, protected them. Rear Admiral Bill Flanders was the senior Libran in the Fleet, and was the Fleet's Judge Advocate General. "Look. Kirikiadi. there's nothing I can do. For whatever reason, the selection board decided not to put you in the fleet...Commander Cain was the Board President...Stop whining...let me tell you something; there are billions of people in the Twelve Colonies, and there are only two I'm afraid of; both of them are Helena Cain. I assure you, this is a good assignment for you...no, my boy, it won't do you any good to contact her. Suck it up. Flanders out." Absently, Flanders reached up and rubbed the left shoulder, that under his uniform blouse, unknown to Kirikiadi, had the same markings that Kirikiadi's shoulder had.

The Society had definite plans for Mike Kirikiadi, and they did not involve service with the Fleet. in twenty years, Kirikiadi would be one of three finalists for Director of Planetary Intelligence on Libran. Five years after that, he would be the Director of Colonial Intelligence. That plan would not be shared with Kirikiadi, but the ways would be opened for him to advance to it "on his own." The Selection Board had made Flanders' job much easier. Months later, he met one of the board members at a social event and asked about Kirikiadi. "Oh him, yeah, we talked about him a lot. His class standing was high enough, but he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. The deciding vote came down to Cain, and she just said that she never wanted to serve with that creepy man. This is just between you and me, of course." Flanders nodded and wondered what Kirikiadi had done to get that kind of reputation.

The next day, Gaeta and Kirikiadi graduated and went their separate ways. They briefly stayed in touch as was usual but then fell out of contact as their lives diverged. Felix didn't even think of his friend almost two years later when the press reported that Libran drug kingpin Carmelo Wu had been killed in a shootout with Libran Intelligence forces. In fact, it had been Mike Kirikiadi who had walked up to the fallen Wu, dug his steel toed boot into the bullet wound on Wu's leg and listened to him whine and beg for his life for a few minutes before shifting the muzzle of his rifle a few centimeters and exerted a few kilos of pressure on the trigger, milliseconds before Wu's head exploded. Very 3-D.

Felix Gaeta and Mike Kirikiadi spent more than a year at the Tactical Officers' School. This is their story...


	2. The Smoker

**DISCLAIMER:** _Battlestar Galactica_ is the creation of Glen A. Larson, and the reimagined universe of _Battlestar Galactica 2003_ is the intellectual property of Ronald D. Moore and David Eick. I do not own the rights to the Battlestar Galactica stories or characters. This is an AU work; no copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit being made. This author does, however, reserve the rights to characters and plots of his own creation.

The Colonial Fleet's Tactical Officers School and branch was an offshoot of the Cylon War. Review showed that there was a need for an officer more broadly trained than traditional navigators, and there was at least one disaster. near the close of the war, when BSG 7, augmented to three battlestars, made a jump that resulted in one jumping directly into another, and the third, the battlestar Atlas, being so heavily damaged, and narrowly averting explosive decompression, by jumping into the debris field that she had to be scrapped. After several years, Fleet authorities realized that the pressure of the course made it incumbent on them to provide decompression points throughout the course. The most popular was the smoker.

It was close to the end of the first phase when the school's command announced there would be a smoker at the end of the week. Mike Kirikiadi was enthusiastic and looked forward to it; his roommate Felix Gaeta was much less interested.

"These blood sports are barbaric, Mike; they have no place in society, and mark my word, public opinion's going to turn against them real soon,."

"No way, Felix; they're what make us Colonials; boxing is the manliest art. Gods, I wouldn't miss it; wanna go?"

"Not really, but I'm not doing anything else; What'll I do if I someone wants to fight me?"

"You're fast; dance around them and wear them out; don't let 'em connect; get in a few good blows, and the match is over."

Not convinced, Felix said nothing.

The end of the week came, and almost everyone made their way to the gym. The lights were low, and over everything, a cloud of smoke loomed over the crowd. Mike lit up a fumarillo, while Felix declined. The crowd was loud, as people wondered who would call out whom. This was a no rank affair, and everyone was fair game. There was no shame in losing; only in putting up a poor fight. The audience appreciated the ringside banter as much as the fight.

The first couple of matches were nothing special; most only went a round or two; side bets were made and collected. The commanders and other senior officers in the front rows watched every single move; this wasn't just a way to relieve tension; it was a measure of the man; how did they react; did they shrink; were they overly aggressive; and it was a way for the senior officers to see things they hadn't seen in the schoolhouse.

Back in the cheap (free) seats Felix was battling nausea, while Mike was looking around the stands, seeing who was there, looking for one person in particular...and then he saw him. He lightly backhanded Felix against the elbow, "C'mon; let's go."

Felix was aghast, "What? Are you calling me out? " Felix had worked out with Mike before, and he was under no illusions about whom was in better shape.

"You? No; no way; I like you; I've got someone else in mind. I want you to stand with me." Then, concerned, he asked, "You will, won't you?"

Felix was thrilled. Throughout school, the other guys had never asked him to participate in any of their activities; in fact, they would invite him not to participate, and here was Mike, a Libran, sure, but a guy who not only knew, but accepted Felix. "Sure."

They moved forward, and Kirikiadi added himself to the list of participants; he had to include who he was going to call out but that was between him and the ref. Most of the people who fought that night kept on their coveralls, only removing their blouses, but Kirikiadi had been anticipating this, and had stripped to down to his Libran boxing shorts and taken off his blouse, leaving his torso bare; he was in the classic boxing outfit.

At his turn, Kirikiadi entered the ring, with Felix in his corner , and looked up at his mark. "C'mon Thorne, drag your fat ass down here. Don't worry if it takes a couple of trips, I've got all night." Lieutenant Alastair Thorne had been the bete noire of the entire class. He was the senior officer in the class, and one of the few who had gotten there as a result of patronage rather than merit. He was also, in the words of the Tauron gangs, "a dead man walking," who wouldn't make it past the first phase review, regardless of his support.

Thorne had always been able to rely on his loathsome personality to avoid situations like this, and he wasn't particularly afraid of a narcissistic nancy boy like, well, he wasn't quite sure what his name was, but he was in his class. Karickety, that was it. He made his way to ringside and noted that no one rose to stand with him. He pulled off his blouse and entered the ring.

Ringside, Commander Helena Cain leaned over to her neighbor, Commander Alex Ponder, and said "Five hundred cubits on Thorne." Ponder looked suspiciously at her, "I'll take your money; Kirikiadi has 15 kilos plus the reach on Thorne." "Don't underestimate Thorne; he's a sneaky little piece of crap." She would win either way; if he lost, she would call him to her office for some private "counseling."

In the ring, Kirikiadi faced Thorne, and his well-developed right pectoral muscle started a violent twitching. "Hey Thorne, look; this one's partial to you." The ref decided to give a little leeway in starting the match; everyone enjoyed it when there was some good banter between the fighters, and while Thorne offered nothing, Kirikiadi might be worth listening to for a while. The hatred for Thorne was not limited to the student body, but extended into the cadre, as well.

Like many poor college students throughout history, Mike Kirikiadi had mastered a few cheap skills that would entertain his friends; sleight of hand wasn't going to help him here, but he was an accomplished ventriloquist, and he had decided to have some fun at Thorne's expense.

While their gloves were being laced up, Kirikiadi looked down at his chest, and sotto voce said "Stop that; you're bothering Lieutenant Thorne. " Back came, in a trembling falsetto, "I can't help myself, he's sooooo handsome." Not expecting anything like this, the audience burst out laughing, as much because of the unexpected nature as well as it being funny. "Stop that Karickety."

And then ensued a bizarre conversation between Kirikiadi and his chest. "Oohhhhh Riki, I don't think he likes me."

"Don't worry; he doesn't like me, either."

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm just going to have to kick his ass."

"Do you really think you can? He's so biiiig and sooo strong."

"I..." From the other corner, Thorne had reached his breaking point, "SILENCE! Silence at once; I'm tired of this impertinence from you Karickety; you and your talking teat." The laughter this time was at Thorne; they may have thought Kirikiadi was pushing Thorne too far, but Thorne's reaction was unnecessary. In his corner, Kirikiadi flashed a brilliant smile at Thorne; Kirikiadi was considered one of the best looking men in the entire schoolhouse; and contemptuously tapped his square chin with one of his gloves.

The bell rang, and Kirikiadi advanced in classic boxing style; Thorne, on the other hand, came running out of his corner with both arms swinging in giant circles in front of him, eyes wide. Momentarily, the old story about the best swordsman on Kobol came back to Kirikiadi; the best swordsman doesn't fear the second best, but he does fear the worst, because he has no idea what the worst is going to do. And Thorne was obviously the worst boxer in the Fleet; no, in the Colonies. Kirikiadi retreated while he re-evaluated what he was going to do. Even though Kirikiadi was right handed, he gave Thorne a straight left to the heart which knocked him flat on his ass, sitting up, legs out in front of him.

This was too fast; Kirikiadi planned to hurt Thorne, and needed to decide how long he could carry him without sympathy moving in Thorne's favor. On the canvas, Thorne knew he had to get up; no one would accept that this had been a knockout blow. He took his eight count, got up, slowly, and assumed a more traditional stance.

Kirikiadi moved in and delivered a few jabs which Thorne couldn't deflect, and Thorne tried a few pitty-pat punches, but that was it before the round ended. Kirikiadi retired to his corner, where Felix had a towel ready for him. "How long d'ya think I should carry him, Felix? He's worse than I thought he'd be." "Can't you just knock him out so we can get out of here; it stinks." "That's me, Felix." The bell rang and Kirikiadi returned to the fight.

He slowly circled Thorne, easily avoiding Thorne's punches, responding with a few well directed, carefully pulled punches that were guaranteed to hurt Thorne, but not so much that they would knock him down. This went on for a few rounds and Kirikiadi realized that the crowd was turning on him. He had heard a few "boos" from the crowd, and he knew that the next round would be it. He turned to Felix, "Let's go to the O Club and get a few drinks after this round. I'm gonna deck him."

With his first punch,. a right cross, Kirikiadi caught Thorne in the chin, and Thorne went down. Kirikiadi circled him while the ref was counting, "C'mon geddup, geddup; I didn't hit you that hard." The audience agreed, so Thorne dragged himself to his feet, trying to figure out how to end it, and then it came to him. As they squared off, Thorne let loose with a low flying uppercut, designed to hit Kirikiadi just below the waist. Kirikiadi sensed it coming and shifted his leg and arched back, but he still took a glancing blow; where it was, a glancing blow, even wearing a cup, was all it took to drive him to his knees.

The crowd was on its feet, booing and jeering Thorne, who stepped forward, "I'm sorry' I'm sorry; I didn't mean to do that." The ref straight-armed him and forced him back, while he talked to Kirikiadi. "Say the word and he's disqualified." Kirikiadi shook his head, and from between clenched teeth, "No, I can finish him; give me the eight count. " "If he knocks you out, I can't come back and disqualify him." "I know; I'm ready." Then the ref started what was later considered to be the longest eight count in Colonial boxing history. Thorne couldn't figure it out; he knew he should have been disqualified for the low blow, and then he saw the look in Kirikiadi's eyes, and he was afraid. Kirikiadi got to his feet at the end of the eight count, and the bell rang, indicating the end of the round. He returned unsteadily to his corner, looking for Felix; "Ice." Felix handed him the ice pack, which he thrust into his shorts. "Bastard; I didn't think he'd try something like that."

The bell rang, and the two fighters advanced to the center. Kirikiadi didn't waste any time. Three quick jabs, a feint, and then the uppercut that ended the round with Thorne flat on his back. The ref raised Kirikiadi's hand in victory, and to scattered applause from the audience. It wasn't that big a deal to them.

Three days later, after a some intense one on one Pyramid, which Felix won-Kirikiadi was a physically stronger player, but he didn't have any moves that didn't require strength, while Felix was lithe and fast. They entered the sauna, Kirikiadi as the gods had made him, and Felix with his towel wrapped around him. It was no secret that the Librans on base met several times a month at the saunas to beat each other with saplings, drink, and go back and forth between the saunas and the frigidairuium. In addition to their other barbarous rites, Librans were much happier out of their clothes than in them. The parks on Libran were full of happy Libran naturists running around and sunning themselves. In the sauna, Mike saw the birch saplings that were such a part of the culture on Libran. "Hey Felix, you ever used those?" Felix looked distastefully at the saplings, "No." "It's easy; you use them on my back and legs, like this," and he whooshed them through the steam. "Got it?" "Yeah;" Felix was being unusually untalkative.

After a few unsatisfactory whacks, Kirikiadi turned to Felix, "Lie down; I'll show you how it's done." Felix unwrapped his towel and lay face down. Standing over him, stark naked with saplings raised over him like one of the ancient classic statues stood Mike Kirikiadi. The door opened, and in walked their bete noire, Lieutenant Thorne who took in this, from his viewpoint, sickening and unnatural tableau. "What; what's going on here?"

Kirikiadi turned to him, and gave him his most lascivious leer, "I asked Mr. Gaeta here to sleep with me, sir, and he, he turned me down, so I'm punishing him. Wanna get in a few whacks? I'll hold him down for you." Still leering, he advanced towards Thorne, extending the saplings, handle forward, so the contemptible little swine couldn't accuse him of trying to hit him.

Thorne was genuinely horrified, and he stepped back, stumbling over the door jamb. "Get away from me you..." he bit his tongue, because he knew that if he vocalized the next word that he wanted to say, it would end his career in a second, before continuing, "disgust...me." And he walked away, still grumbling to himself.

Feeling well pleased with himself, Kirikiadi sat down across from Felix, looking at the door, wondering if he could have played that any better, deciding that he couldn't have. Felix, meanwhile, turned and looked at his roommate. He took in a breath before saying, "You know, Riki, if you had offered to sleep with me, I wouldn't have said no."

One of the lessons at the Tactical Officers' School was when faced with the unexpected, come up with a diversion. Still looking at the door, Kirikiadi evaluated the entire situation. It was the first time Felix had ever called him Riki, not to mention his offer. Too much for a glib response. "You know, pubic fat doesn't do Lieutenant Thorne any favors at all." Angrily, Felix threw his towel at Kirikiadi, "Were you listening to me?" "I'm sorry; what?"

Felix started, "I said, that if you had offered to sleep with me, I wouldn't say no." Riki looked at his friend, "I totally understand Felix, but even though you're my friend, you'd have to get in line behind most of the women in the Fleet, and even some of the guys; all of this is in great demand," and he waved his hands over his whole body, "and I would even want to sleep with me", The door opened again, interrupting him, and this time, the company was more appealing to Riki. Two of the women in the class ahead of theirs, Betty and Dahlia, came in. Riki was transfixed; they were both to his taste, but they turned their backs on him and turned to Felix. "Hi Felix," "Hi, Felix," "Hi girls." Riki cleared his throat, "Hi." They ignored him. Louder this time, he cleared his throat again, and said "Hi Betty; hi Dahlia."

Betty turned around, "Oh, hi Riki." Dahlia didn't even turn around, just turning her hand around and waving it at him, "Hi Riki." Riki checked his breath, and then his pits, and couldn't believe that they preferred Felix to him. Each of them grabbed Felix by one of his arms and took him from the sauna. To his dying day, Riki believed that Felix had accomplished something that he had only fantasized about and read about in the letters in Playhouse Magazine. Felix never brought it up, and one day, Riki asked him directly. Felix winked and smiled, but said nothing, knowing that it Riki would agonize over it. It would be years, though, before Felix was comfortable enough with another guy to make the same offer he had to Riki.


End file.
